Unexpected
by Jennifer Wand
Summary: A ficset posted in parts. Each should be readable on its own. This is about Mohinder, Matt, Molly, and the unexpected turns one's life can take.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**  
_(In which Mohinder muses on his sexual orientation)  
This prologue is rated PG-13._

Mohinder came back after midnight. After peeking in to see if Molly was all right (her nightmares did not seem to be plaguing her at that very moment—thank goodness for small favors), he headed into the kitchen to make a late-night sandwich. He was halfway through spreading the peanut butter when a sudden growling noise made him jump.

Matt was in an easy chair, snoring away. His hair and shirt were rumpled; he looked like he had stumbled in off a late-night beat and dropped off. His head was angled forward, giving him the illusion of having double chins. Somehow he looked older and larger there in sleep than he looked during the daylight. He looked like an old, musty, familiar pile of laundry: soft, limp, yet somehow comforting. There was even a smidge of drool on the bottom of his lip.

A breeze blew in through an open window, and he shivered in his sleep. Mohinder felt a sudden urge to find a blanket to put around the snoozing cop. He took a step forward and then stopped, his keen observation suddenly turned on himself. He had been scrutinizing Matt as he slept. Memorizing him, even. What an odd thing to be doing. What was it that fascinated him so about this (at least outwardly) very ordinary man in this very ordinary place? The question prickled at the back of his ears, and he moved toward the sleeping man again, crouching before him so he could look up into the languid face.

There was something warm about this scene, Mohinder thought to himself. Here he was, an academic, a man of reason and economy, not passion. And yet he'd been playing house these for four months, pretending this was his family, and he'd been thoroughly enjoying it. A lot of that was due to this man. Matt was infinitely more intuitive as a father than Mohinder was. (Well, Matt was going to be a father for real, albeit to a woman he had not seen in a month. But perhaps it was hormonal.) But during the months Mohinder had worked with Molly, he had not really developed a relationship with her until Matt had stepped in. Somehow the addition of Matt made things seem sunnier— more real— more human. Somehow Matt made _Mohinder_ more human.

Inexplicably, Mohinder remembered Peter Petrelli. When he had first met him, Peter had been the very definition of a wild-eyed, idealistic child. So excited about the things he knew he could do and so sure that destiny had a grand role for him to play. He came off as a madman, and that's what Mohinder had thought he was. But there had been a thrill in the air surrounding Peter, an aura that buzzed and jittered around him in inaudible bursts of music. It was completely unscientific. And Mohinder had been fascinated by it as well.

He wasn't a stupid man, nor was he a bigot. Mohinder knew very well that it had been attraction. To the possibility that Peter presented, of course, but also to Peter himself. Mohinder recalled with a blush how Peter's face had come into his mind during his moments of weakness, alone in an unfamiliar city facing an unfamiliar future. The tension that the childlike face, with its bright eyes and its buzzing aura, created in him. It was a reservoir of fantasy that had to be periodically drained if Mohinder was going to be able to keep his head around the genuine article.

And here was a completely different man, one whose experiences had washed the idealism out of him. Matt would never again be a child; he was most certainly a man, one who had seen blood and death and abandonment and unfairness, one who carried the scars of those experiences. But his aura, too, was alive. With something that Mohinder wanted to drink up and soak in. Something that was good for him, that would make him glow if he learned how to use it.

Matt mumbled in his sleep, and the drop of drool hung precariously from his lip. Mohinder reached out and brushed it away. Matt's lips were warm to the touch, but somehow the contact made Mohinder shiver. As he wiped his hand on his worn jeans and got up, a thought occurred to him that made him grin. Tickled, he murmured it aloud to himself.

"Perhaps I'm herosexual."


	2. White Noise

**White Noise**  
_This chapter is rated NC-17._

He'd been getting nothing but white noise nowadays.

Not that the normal, everyday musings of Mohinder were to be much missed. They usually had something to do with enzyme levels, or isotopes, or something equally obtuse. Occasionally it was something in an Indian dialect— a memory from his boyhood, perhaps, or a mantra to keep him focused, Matt guessed. But it was still thought, so the change worried him. In Matt's presence, Mohinder was purposely obscuring his thoughts. In other words, he was hiding something from him.

Matt worried about Mohinder, too. He wasn't the secret-agent type. Matt might— in a few years and with plenty of backup— be able to manage the kind of undercover sting he and Bennet were undertaking. But this was a professor, for God's sake! A boy who'd become a man with his nose firmly in a book the whole time! What Mohinder was doing, frankly, scared him. Because of what they'd done to Matt himself, of course, and because of the implications for Molly's safety. But it bothered him beyond that, and he wasn't entirely sure why.

Besides, the damned white noise was giving him a headache.

Occasionally, a phrase would slip through the fog, and when it did, Matt was even more disconcerted. Because one of the words was almost invariably his name.

_Matt can't know..._

_our life... would chanage..._

_Stay focused... or Matt will..._

_...mustn't find out... control it..._

He tried to give him opportunities, too. During a "family" dinner, he talked pointedly to Molly about how important it was that they share things, how a secret could turn into a lie that would break things. But he succeeded only in making her run away, and as he quietly washed the dishes, Matt waited patiently for Mohinder to start a conversation. But he didn't, and the white noise was worse than usual that night.

So confrontation it was.

When Mohinder arrived home, Matt was waiting for him at the door with a stern look. "Oh my God," Mohinder said, the blood draining from his face. "What happened? _Molly?!_" His voice rose to a shout and he sprinted past Matt to the hallway where the door to her bedroom lay.

"Shh!" Matt stage-whispered angrily. "She's fine!"

Mohinder's arms dropped to his sides and he whirled, looking distinctly annoyed. "What do you think you're doing, scaring me like that? Don't you know how frightened I am that one day I'll come home and all this'll be gone forever? It's a very real possibility to me!"

"Yeah. I know." _And how dare you imply that I don't,_ he added inwardly, grateful that he was the only one who could read minds around here.

Mohinder could, however, read his tone. "I'm sorry," he relented. "It's just that you scared me, and..."

"I'm sorry, too," Matt said grudgingly, then corrected himself. "No, I'm really not. We have to talk."

That's when he got his first clue. Like a whisper, like a bird skitting across a sidewalk and out of sight again, the thought came.

_Not yet, not THAT talk, I'm not ready..._

Then white noise.

They sat down in the living room, Matt on his easy chair and Mohinder on the couch, and cracked open a pair of beers. The static from Mohinder's mind was nearly unbearable as he asked, in what he probably hoped was a casual tone, "So is this about Molly? Has her teacher talked to you again?"

"Molly's fine."

"Then it's something else? To do with the case you're working on? If I can be of any help..."

Matt leaned back with a heavy sigh. "You know what? I don't know what it's about, Mohinder. You won't tell me."

_Oh my God. It IS that talk. _

_No, I can control it. I have to._

White noise...

"Would you stop that already?" Matt snapped. "It gives me migraines! Look, if there's something I should know—"

"You shouldn't know," Mohinder said in clipped tones. "That's why I'm hiding it." He turned up his nose and sucked defiantly on his beer, but Matt felt a small amount of triumph. _At least something's out,_ he thought. _If not the secret, then the fact that there is one._

Now it was his turn to guess. "Does it have to do with your mission, then?" The word "mission" felt strange to Matt, too noble and antiquated, but somehow it seemed much more appropriate when applied to Mohinder. "Information on the company?"

_No._ "Yes." Mohinder's face told Matt he realized he'd let the stray thought slip.

Exasperated, Matt slapped a hand to his forehead. "Don't lie to me, man!"

"I..."

"I've already lived with lies. I was hoping there wouldn't be any this time around!"

_You're comparing me to your ex-wife._

"I'm not comparing you." It wasn't worth it to pretend he couldn't hear. "It's just that—"

_Does that mean you think..._

"I think what?" And then he gave a yelp; the white noise was ear-splitting. He clutched his head with both hands. "Mohinder! You're killing me here!"

The white noise stopped abruptly, as though the thought was slicing through the static, too clear to be dissuaded—

_You're killing me too._

Matt blinked. "What?"

Mohinder gazed at him. The look on his face was one of resignation.

Matt set down his beer and leaned forward, finding the strength to look right into those sad eyes. "What is it? What am I doing that's hurting you so much?"

The answer didn't come, not from Mohinder's mind or his mouth. But he did speak. "If I tell you, it changes everything. And for all I know, you could decide it means I can never see Molly again. And I'd be powerless to stop you. You can see why I hesitate, I take it."

Now Matt was truly baffled. "What on earth," he sputtered, "could ever make me take Molly away from you? That girl needs you. She needs both of us."

_So do I._

"Then what's the problem?"

"Maybe there's no problem." Mohinder averted his gaze. "Maybe everything will be OK. But I just can't afford to find out."

"It _will_ be OK. I promise you." Matt moved to the couch, faced Mohinder, touched his shoulder. "Tell me, man. Just let it out."

_Maybe there's some hope?_

But Mohinder shook his head. "I can't." He still wouldn't look at him, and the white noise was replaced by the mournful, incoherent moan of fear.

"Yes, you can. Look, I'll sit right here. If you can't say it, then think it. I'll close my eyes and wait for you to be ready." Matt shut his eyes and listened as hard as he could.

He heard nothing. Once more, Mohinder neither spoke nor thought his secret.

But when Matt opened his eyes again, he understood exactly what it was.

Their lips parted; it had been a sweet and sad kiss, one of dying hope surrounded by fatalistic desperation. A kiss like the last gasp of a dying man.

Now Mohinder's eyes were closed, and there were twin pearls rolling down his cheeks.

And Matt caught his breath at how beautiful those tears were.

His face was still close, still tilted up despite the tears as though hoping for more despite himself. A gentle curl of hair fell awkwardly over one eye. Matt found himself reaching over to touch it, brush it away. His heart was racing. Some ancient conventions were tugging at his mind, to be sure— somehow this had to be wrong, or not normal, or something— but his inhibitions were dulled by alcohol and now all he knew were long, dark, tear-studded eyelashes and warm breath on his skin. And as he tucked that strand of hair behind Mohinder's ear, it shuddered, and Matt's hand found its way back across the tan face and the sandpaper of stubble on Mohinder's chin, and he realized he wasn't averse to this feeling at all.

_What would happen if I...?_ he thought.

And as if in answer, though Matt was sure he hadn't yet learned to transmit a thought—

_Please, just try._

_Please. Please, just give it a chance._

And that voice was persuasive. Matt lifted his other hand to cup Mohinder's face, feeling the sandpaper beneath both palms. He bent his forehead forward to touch Mohinder's. Matt could feel the color creeping into Mohinder's cheeks, the blood rising through that rough jaw. He watched Mohinder's lips purse slightly. Those lips has touched his, but he couldn't remember now what it felt like. And he had to know.

Moving into the kiss— lips touching, seeking a connection, awkwardly brushing, settling— was slow and agonizingly delicious. So much so that Matt himself was surprised at how passionate the kiss became once those puzzle pieces had found their perfect fit. He pulled Mohinder close with one arm, feeling trembling hands settle on his shoulders, and realized he was harder than he'd been in a long time. And Mohinder's mind was no longer sending any messages— he was thinking entirely with his body now. For that matter, so was Matt.

He leaned forward, pushed Mohinder down onto the couch, feeling the need to crush his weight down against him. Their legs intertwined. Matt wanted desperately to grind himself into this man. His hips had a mind of their own. He had to have him, had to dominate him. It was an overpowering need, and he growled low in his throat as Mohinder's lips left his and sunk with a flutter into the skin of his neck. Oh. Oh, it was too much. "Oh, God," he muttered, unable to contain the words.

The sound, the first breaking of this silent madness that had overtaken them, shocked them both into stillness. Eyes wide open now, they blinked, stared at each other, sat up awkwardly, made sure not even fingertips or fabric or shoes were touching. Matt stared down at his clenched hands.

"T—- that's—" he tried to say. "Was that—"

"I did try to keep it from you," Mohinder said. "Just my luck to fall for a mind-reader."

"Did you—" The words would not string together. "I mean, are you— Are we...??"

"I don't know," Mohinder said. His voice was slow and clear. "I don't think there's a yes or no answer to that question."

"Isn't there?" Matt wanted there to be. He wanted a bright line that would put him on one side or the other. Either he liked men or he didn't. Granted, he couldn't for the life of him think of another man to whom he'd been attracted. But he couldn't think of a woman he'd felt this way about, either.

All he could think about was Mohinder.

Mohinder and Molly and this life they'd built without knowing it. This family. Molly wasn't his daughted, but he loved her. And Mohinder wasn't his wife— or husband, or co-parent, or whatever, but...

He found his lips curling around Mohinder's name. It was as though he were saying it for the first time.

Mohinder froze. "What?"

"We've got a good thing going here," Matt said lamely.

"Yes," sighed Mohinder, running his fingers through his hair. "I suppose you're right. N- no sense in upseting it." His voice wavered.

"No!" Matt said, impulsively taking the young professor's hands. "This. _This_," he repeated, squeezing those hands tightly. He knew he was blushing, knew he was taking a step into a place he never thought he'd be. But far from stopping him, that awareness seemed to be pushing him through that door. "It feels like a good thing. And— if it's good, I want—-"

For the first time that night, Mohinder gave a hint of a hopeful smile..

Matt lost his words again. "Damn it, I can't think. It's your damned white noise. I can't think about—" His voice trailed off, and as though taking great care not to break him, he ran two fingers down Mohinder's cheek to his throat, fingertips fluttering on the softness of the skin there. When he spoke again, his voice was weak. "All I know is, I want you— more than, I think, I've wanted anything." The words sounded so clear and true to Matt as he heard them spoken. "Mohinder, I'm not sure how to do this—"

"Me neither," grinned Mohinder.

That smile did something to him. Matt groaned and kissed him again. Hard this time. Colors and notes were flying through his head in a cacophony. The red heat rising up from the base of his spine caught fire again, and he crushed Mohinder in a bear hug, feeling arms snaking around his waist and neck and thinking he might not survive just how good they felt.

_Bedroom,_ Mohinder thought.

_Yes, bedroom,_ Matt answered in his own mind, and as though he'd heard, Mohinder pulled them both up, never breaking the embrace, guiding himself and Matt backwards across the room and toward the larger of the two bedrooms. It was where he slept on his once-rare visits home. Matt was used to smaller, cozier spaces, so he didn't care for large beds or open space. But tonight there would have to be plenty of room for them both.

How they managed to negotiate themselves onto Mohinder's bed without waking Molly, much less the neighborhood, was anyone's guess. Mohinder was clinging to him tightly, his lips eagerly exploring and nibbling where he could, and Matt's gasps were not too far short of moans. He worked his hands underneath Mohinder's shirt, finding his bare skin a wondrous landscape to discover. It was torture to break those long kisses even enough to get the sweater off him. When they came back together after such a break, they were like swimmers gasping for air. They breathed each other's kisses. They couldn't stand to part.

When Matt reached down beneath Mohinder's belt to grab him, Mohinder's whole body bucked upward as he sucked in a breah. His head arched backwards. The sight was unbearably sexy to Matt, who buried his head in Mohinder's neck and began whispering into his shoulder. "Oh my God, I've got to have you," he muttered, feeling his own hardness and Mohinder's, as the other man's hands clasped his buttocks possessively.

When Mohinder's eyes next opened, Matt felt his senses come to him again for a moment. "Mohinder, I really don't know how to do this. I don't know how it works. Shouldn't I get some, I don't know, _lube_ or something?" The words— particularly that one word— sounded hopelessly awkward, and Matt was afraid he'd ruined everything.

"I don't think so," Mohinder managed between ragged breaths."I don't think I can wait that long." He was wriggling out of his pants as he spoke, striving to turn around to allow Matt access. It wasn't that he found the position— or the sight— terribly sexy, but it was Mohinder, and it transfixed Matt that Mohinder was saying those words, Mohinder was grabbing pillows for support and looking up at him, pleading—

"No, I can't wait either," Matt muttered, getting his own pants down and gripping Mohinder's waist. It was too much, he was too hard— and before he even knew it he was entering him. Mohinder was crying out. Matt could see Mohinder squeezing himself and hear him moaning. He realized with some distress that _he was fucking another man_, damn it, and that _should_ be so wrong, but it was Mohinder, and Mohinder felt so, so right— so insanely right.

Matt couldn't just fuck him, as good and maddening as it felt to just rock forward into him, over and over. He had to lean forward, to kiss the skin of his bare back, to trail his hands along the line of that lean, dark body. He had to connect with him. He had to let him know he knew what he was doing, that he wanted to be here. He would not let Mohinder regret sharing his secret for one minute.

Mohinder turned his head back to make eye contact. He was biting his lip. It wasn't long, the glance that they shared— Mohinder's eyes rolled back into his head and he bit the pillow fiercely, letting out a groan— but it was long enough to tell Matt that Mohinder knew. And he closed his eyes and listened to the music of Mohinder's thoughts:

_God, Matt— I've been dreaming of this—_

_Holy— that feels so good—_

_Oh— slower— yes, yes, just like that, slow and deep—_

_Need you, need more of you—_

and the explosion of thought and sensation as Mohinder came was so loud, but this white noise Matt didn't mind as his mind released its hold on reality and he answered with a white-hot explosion of his own, one that seemed to throw him across the room with its intensity—

Then the thoroughly sweaty collapse of two bodies across a bed, nibbling kisses and frantic grabs and caresses as the last embers of the fire caught the wind and flared up before dying— and then all was still, inside and out.

"Holy shit," Matt mumbled into Mohinder's shoulder.

"My thoughts exactly," Mohinder gasped.

When he could bear to break the embrace, Matt rolled sideways off of him with a grunt.

Mohinder's eyes were still wide, clinging to Matt's as though he might disappear if he even blinked. "I don't know what to say," he ventured. "That was—"

"Me neither," Matt interrupted. "But yeah, it was."

Mohinder grinned and nodded. That smile disarmed Matt— it always did. He leaned in to kiss him. Mohinder responded with tenderness, and Matt felt a swelling of happiness that he barely knew what to do with. So he smiled too. Two grins on two men, thoroughly sated and giddily in love.

_Will this still be OK tomorrow?_ The thought flew into Matt's mind with a sudden urgency, though Mohinder's smile never flickered. Then he realized that it wasn't Mohinder's thought he was hearing but his own.

But he heard Mohinder's answer all the same.


	3. Not a Mistake

**Not a Mistake**  
_This chapter is rated PG-13._  
You may recognize the names of the cops mentioned in this chapter. A gold star to anyone who knows all three, though.

* * *

Matt woke up slowly. He ached and it was warm and unfamiliar around him. The familiar beeping of his alarm clock seemed far away. He rolled over to slap it, but his hand swatted at air. Bleary, Matt rolled back, determined to ignore it if he couldn't reach it.

He couldn't ignore what he had turned to face, though. Mohinder's face was slack in sleep, his curls damp and tousled over his forehead. The cracks of sunlight from the window illuminated the tiny hairs on his face where they touched him. His eyelashes fluttered slightly as he murmured and fell still again.

It was then that it occurred to Matt just why his alarm seemed so distant. He wasn't in his room. He was lying in Mohinder's bed. In Mohinder's room. _With_ Mohinder.

Matt's eyes traveled down across the sleeping man's face to his bare neck and chest. He was naked. Matt was naked too. Because of what they'd done last night. In this bed, together.

The memories were slow in returning, and Matt was not awake enough to be affected by them yet. They were just like slowly clearing fog over a faraway horizon. A conversation, a secret, a kiss. Bodies moving together. Ragged breaths. Whispers. Warmth. And satisfied sleep. Just images, no emotion. Like a detached dream.

"Mo—hin—der!"

Molly's singsong call from the other room startled him. "Oh, shit," he hissed. Nearly falling off the bed in the process, he scrambled for some sheets to throw over the still-sleeping scientist. Could he sleep through _anything_? Skidding across the floor, Matt grabbed a purple bathrobe from a hamper and draped it over himself. It would do for now. "I'm up, I'm up," he called as he flew across the room and down the hall to his own bedroom.

"I'm gonna miss the bus!" Molly sang again, her voice muffled by what Matt supposed was a hastily thrown together breakfast.

Matt flipped the switch to reset his alarm clock. "Coming!" He skated back around the corner and into the kitchen. Molly was dressed, her hair neatly combed. Matt supposed it was a blessing that she was more organized than either of her two guardians. As she looked up to greet him, she abruptly spit her last bite of cereal halfway across the room.

"Matt, why are you wearing Mohinder's bathrobe?"

Color flew to Matt's cheeks. "This is his?" he fibbed, looking down as though just realizing. "Huh. It ended up in my room somehow. I didn't even notice."

"Well, it's too small on you," the girl lectured. "You look like a big blueberry."

"Enough of that, you." Matt smirked at her. "You have all your homework? Your lunch?" In answer, Molly reached behind her and confidently patted her backpack. "Right. Silly me for asking."

"What's with Mohinder?" Molly pouted as she brought her bowl to the sink. "I was hoping he'd walk me to the bus."

Matt felt a sting of jealousy. "I can walk you," he insisted.

"No, thanks," Molly said almost immediately. This time it was Matt's turn to pout, and Molly was sharp enough to notice. "You always get to pick me up. I just thought it'd be a change."

"Right, right." Matt rolled his eyes. "Never mind me. I'm just the dumb cop who lives with you."

"You're my _hero_," Molly answered, giving him a blinding smile. "But you're not walking me to the bus. See ya!" Blowing him a kiss, she disappeared through the apartment door.

"Yeah, bye..." Matt waved at the closed door. Walking over to the sink, he began halfheartedly washing her cereal bowl. Sometimes his head spun at just how fast she could move and talk. She was a whirl of motion that he was spending his life chasing after. But as much as he wanted to just take pride in that, Matt knew it wasn't just the normal bubbliness of childhood that made Molly such a dynamo. She moved so fast because she was running from her own demons.

A coldness near his wrist made him start, and he drew back his hand. He'd inadvertently soaked the cuff of his bathrobe in the dishwater.

Of _Mohinder's_ bathrobe.

Now the emotions were returning. And it was terrifying. He hadn't been this frightened or excited since he first realized he could read thoughts. Something new was opening up to him, something he didn't understand. And he might just like it, too, if only he could somehow figure out how to control it. But control seemed far, far away.

He tiptoed back into Mohinder's bedroom. The figure under the sheet was stirring now, closer to wakefulness than he'd been before. Matt sat down on the edge of the bed and watched him.

_Mohinder._

He couldn't quantify what he was feeling. It was a lightness in the chest, like a balloon was floating behind his ribcage. At the same time, he felt like crying.

_I've gone over the edge now. I can't go back. To hell with whether I'd want to, because I can't._

He reached out to touch Mohinder's cheek. The contact was warm. Matt had a sudden urge to just jump right back in bed and press his body against the one lying there, warm with sleep, inviting.

He knew he'd eventually have to face the disturbing questions of labels and implications. _Am I gay? Bi? Does this mean I have to start going to different bars and hanging out with—oh, what are the names of those three officers—McClain and Latener and Walker, over on that side of town? What would Janice think if I told her? What would MOLLY think?_

But now wasn't the time for those questions. They would have their moments in the sun, Matt knew. Just as he knew that right now was the time to experience, without questioning or doubting, this strange new world of emotion. Just as he knew that this was not a mistake. It may not be the smartest or easiest thing he's ever done, but it was not a mistake.

Especially not when Mohinder opened his eyes, blinked a few times, and saw the man beside him. And those dark eyes filled with shimmering joy.

"Good morning," he said in a voice that was nearly tearful.

"Hi," said Matt.

"Is Molly off to school OK?"

"Yeah."

A golden silence hung over the bed for a long moment.

"I thought maybe you would be gone," admitted Mohinder.

Matt shook his head but could not find any words.

Slowly, Mohinder sat up in bed, raising his arms high above his head in a stretch. After yawning heavily, he turned again to Matt. "You're wearing my bathrobe," he observed dryly.

Matt shrugged. "Molly was shouting and it was the first thing I could find."

"It suits you." When Mohinder was amused, his face was like a boy's, all cheeks and sparkling eyes.

"Molly didn't think so. I think I agree with her." Matt looked down at himself critically. "Hey... are you OK?" It was a lame question, but it was all he could think to say.

"I should be asking you that question," Mohinder countered. "Are you all right, Matt?" He seemed to have trouble saying the name, and his eyes darted away.

Matt tried to form words. Several times he tried. But nothing was worthy, and besides, his brain had seized on an idea for how to respond that he just couldn't shake. His impulses were so strong around this man that it seemed ridiculous to fight them. So he brought both his hands to Mohinder's face, pulled it to his, and he kissed him tenderly.

When he was done, he said quietly against those flushed lips, "Yeah. I'm fine."

In answer, Mohinder dropped his head to Matt's shoulder as though all strength had left him. "Thank God," he whispered. "Thank God."

Matt had no way to respond to this sudden, naked show of emotion. He put his arms around Mohinder and just held him tight. For a long while they were still, irregular little pools of warmth moving between them with the morning sunlight. Their heartbeats spoke long and deeply to each other, so slow and deliberate in their rhythms.

"You have work," Mohinder said suddenly.

"So do you," Matt murmured a few moments later.

"Maybe I should take the day off." The answer came with a small chuckle above Matt's shoulder blade.

"No way." He broke the embrace, but only so he could cross his arms and look daggers at Mohinder. "Too much is at stake. You can't let little things get in the way of your secret mission."

Mohinder laughed out loud. "My secret mission?" he said, swatting Matt with a fistful of hastily grabbed sheets. "That's a new one. Now give me my bathrobe back so I can shower."

"OK, just a sec," Matt said, heading for the door— or trying to, before a hand jerked at the terry cloth at his waist.

Mohinder rolled onto his stomach on the bed, propping up his hand with one arm. The other held the edge of the bathrobe. "Not 'just a sec,' " he demanded. "Right now."

The audacity of his gaze made Matt go pink and silent. Mohinder was actually eying him. Daring him to strip. He had no idea the good doctor could be so salacious. No, scratch that— Mohinder definitely had a mischievous side, but he'd only ever seen it in his games with Molly. Never had that twinkling in his eyes been turned on him.

_Come on,_ Mohinder prodded him mentally. Matt still stood stock still.

After another few moments, Mohinder stopped smiling, and his mental voice lost its teasing edge. _Come on,_ it repeated. _If last night wasn't just a lie._

"No!" Matt burst out, then sighed. "It wasn't a lie. OK? It wasn't a lie, it wasn't mistake, it wasn't anything I regret— but I still need to work this through." He couldn't look directly at him. "I need some time."

Mohinder was silent. When Matt found the courage to face him, he saw a crestfallen face.

He couldn't leave such an expression be. "Look. How about this. We'll go—" he gulped and finished lamely, "—on a date. This weekend."

"A _date_?" Mohinder blinked and stared as though he couldn't believe his ears.

"Well, yeah." Matt sat down, finding his strength again. "I mean, I know things have changed since I was a kid, but I think it's still normal to go on a date or two with someone you're sleeping with. So we did it a little backwards, that's all. We can still be pretty close to normal."

"Except for the part where we're two men raising a daughter, I'm on a 'secret mission,' and you can read minds," Mohinder responded. "But all right. If it will help you adjust, let's go on a date."

"Actually," Matt said, laying his hand onto Mohinder's, "I even think it might be kind of fun."

Mohinder's eyes began to twinkle again. "Yes," he said slowly, "but first..." He leaned his head in toward Matt's neck tantalizingly.

Matt gulped again, his heart racing. Somehow this man seemed to be able to turn him on at will. "First?" he echoed weakly.

"First..."

Hands tightened on his shoulders...

"...you give me my bathrobe back!" And Mohinder yanked it off and rolled out of reach.

"Shit! Damn it!" Matt sprang to his feet, trying in vain to cover up, and hightailed it from the room, knowing Mohinder had a full view of his backside. Mohinder's laughter echoed from the other room for another several minutes.

Later on, as the shower ran in the background, Matt lay on his own bed, his fist clenched against his heart. His pulse was racing, still, but he was smiling.

This was most definitely not a mistake. Far from it. This had the potential to be one of the best things he'd ever done.


	4. Destiny

**Destiny**  
_ This chapter is rated NC-17._

Mohinder wanted nothing more than to go home.

It was an odd thing for him. He knew that his work was vitally important to the future of at least those he loved, and at most the human race. When he'd started, he'd felt the thrill of being involved in something bigger than him alone. Driven by a larger force.

_Destiny?_ whispered a small voice in his ear.

He rejected such a concept. As a scientist he believed in the provable, the controllable, and the power of the human mind to take charge of its future. Not that destiny wasn't a prime player in the fables he'd heard as a child. Looking back, he found it somewhat hard to believe that he had even wanted to pursue science, given the rich tapestry of myth and ritual he'd grown up absorbing. If his father hadn't been who he was—

(_But perhaps,_ whispered that voice again, _it was destiny that you were born your father's son?_)

But if his father hadn't been who he was, would he have met such a horrifying end?

(But if he hadn't died, would Mohinder have ever come to New York and met Peter, met Eden, met Matt and Molly? Would New York even be here if Mohinder hadn't been who he was?)

He laughed bitterly to himself at such a flight of fancy. He'd rather not credit himself with saving the world. At least, not yet.

But he couldn't deny that was part of his ambition right now. And still he just wanted to go home.

Could he afford to become so fixated on his own personal life, now that he was finally living in the shadow of the Big Bad? What if he was being shadowed? What if the Company took advantage of his moment of weakness to snatch Molly away from them?

Mohinder couldn't imagine that they didn't know where she was. If they'd done their homework on him, they must know. He could only imagine that they'd decided, for whatever reason, that Molly was best kept right where she was. He only prayed he could bring them down before they decided they needed her talents again. And if he just kept his eyes on the prize, he knew, he could set her free.

But could he afford, in the meanwhile, to give in to the illusion before it became a genuine reality? Could he afford to indulge this crush, or budding romance, or whatever was going on between him and Matt? _If my destiny is to save the world,_ he added sardonically in his mind, _what am I doing, as they say, 'sweating the small stuff'?_

That thought, however, didn't keep him from packing up early.

He stopped at the market to buy some spices and baked chicken breasts for dinner. Molly told him an animated story about a playground accident at school. The boy who fell off the merry-go-round cried like a _girl_, she tut-tutted, for just a skinned knee. It was blissful family time, the kind Mohinder never thought he'd know. And as conversation wound down toward the end of the meal, Matt's eyes found his and never left.

Mohinder felt heat rising through his shoulders to his neck. _Stop that,_ he thought loudly. _Don't look at me like that in front of Molly._ Either Matt wasn't listening or he didn't care.

After dinner, Matt donned an apron and began scrubbing the dishes. Molly dumped her plate into the sink and Mohinder followed suit. When he slipped his plate into the soapy water, his hand touched Matt's. It was as though the water had suddenly turned hot; he withdrew his hand with a blush.

At nine, when Molly dropped off to sleep, Matt retreated to his room to finish some paperwork. Mohinder paced back and forth in the hallway, wondering what had caused this sudden shift in attitude. Before, Matt had been the shy one. Mohinder had experience with attraction to men, but it had hit Matt sideways and backwards. He's the one who insisted, like some 1950s remnant, that they go on a date. And Mohinder was doing his best to respect that desire to take things slowly. But that look and that touch were still lingering on his skin and eyes, and they were steadily burning through him.

At one point, Matt left his room to go to the bathroom. As he passed Mohinder, their shoulders touched briefly. Matt smiled at him and went on. Mohinder's hand flew to the spot as though he'd been singed there. A few minutes later, on his way back, Matt brushed against him again. This time, Mohinder was sure, it was deliberate.

"What are you doing?" he hissed, grabbing Matt's wrist.

He turned. "Nothing. What do you mean, what am I doing?" The tone was defensive.

"This! You keep," (and Mohinder reddened) "_touching_ me. When you know I'm trying not to... I'm trying to keep things under control."

"It's a narrow hallway!" Matt ventured lamely.

"Don't give me that, Matt. You heard what I said to you at dinner, didn't you? And you didn't listen."

"Oh, right." He looked sheepish. "All right. You want the truth? I couldn't."

A bolt of fear shot through Mohinder. Losing powers was the first symptom of the disease. "You couldn't hear me?"

"No, I mean..." Matt's voice lowered. "I couldn't look away. I honestly tried." He took a step closer to Mohinder, speaking under his breath, furtively glancing around as though afraid he'd be overheard. "You're the one who made me conscious of this— _thing_ we have. Did you think everything was going to be the same?"

Chastened, Mohinder clung to his pride. "All I'm saying is, you're making things difficult for me."

"Difficult for you?" Matt leaned in close, and Mohinder was sure he must be able to hear his pulse, it was thumping so loud. "I don't even know how to deal with this. Feeling this way whenever I see you, whenever I think about you... I've got no control all of a sudden."

"Neither do I!" Mohinder insisted. "I'm doing my best to give you the time and space you need, but..." He looked down at his hand, still grasping Matt's wrist, and blushed. His grip loosened and their fingers found each other. An ache crept into Mohinder's voice."All I can think about whenever I see you is touching you. I feel like I'm in middle school again. I don't know how long I can keep this up."

"I know." Matt took Mohinder's other hand, stroking the palm gently with his thumb. The sensation was more intense than it had any right to be.

"This isn't helping," he said weakly.

"I know," Matt repeated. His eyes, dark springs under a new moon, seemed to caress him. Mohinder stopped breathing, and Matt's voice broke. "Oh, hell."

His full weight crashed against Mohinder, pinning him to the wall. It was a long moment of heavy breathing and staring into each other's eyes before their mouths finally met. Mohinder felt the contact in the base of his spine; his legs wobbled. His hands were pressed against the wall. He was trapped, a prisoner of this powerful man whose body against his was drowning him in warm bliss. He groaned aloud.

"Shh," Matt said against his mouth. "Molly."

"Right," Mohinder whispered urgently. "Don't stop."

He didn't. His hands released Mohinder's and began to travel over the man's waist, his stomach and chest. Mohinder sucked in a breath when Matt's fingers brushed his nipples, and he sighed a long sigh when they came to rest on his face as the kiss faded from possessive to tender and ebbed away.

"I didn't intend this," he protested as his eyes searched Matt's.

"Me neither." And the air between them was sucked away again as they fell into each other, into another ravenous kiss.

"This doesn't bode well for our control," Mohinder gasped. He didn't trust his own legs; he was now holding onto Matt's arms for dear life.

"What control?" The rumble of the voice came from Mohinder's neck, where Matt was pressing dozens of earnest kisses.

"God, Matt, can't we get out of the hallway at _least_—" But it took an effort to pry him away.

Mohinder took the opportunity to step ahead of him, to get a few words out as Matt followed him into the bedroom. "I was keeping this slow for _you_, you know. I thought at least we ought to wait until our date."

"Oh, right," Matt tried to affect a conversational tone. "Um, where do you want to go on that?" he asked, shutting the door behind them.

"That's a good question, actually. I hadn't thought about it—"

He was interrupted by hands snaking around his waist and a warm, wet mouth on his ear. "Tell me later," Matt whispered. He unzipped Mohinder's fly and pulled his body back against his own. Mohinder could feel Matt's hardness pressing at him insistently. He murmured an oath and leaned back into the embrace. The moment of control was over.

Matt guided them down onto the bed, sitting Mohinder on his lap. Running his hands beneath his shirt to remove it, he whispered hotly into the newly bare skin between ardent kisses. "Damn it— what you're doing to me—"

"What I'm doing to _you?_" Mohinder half-moaned. His fingernails were digging into the flesh of Matt's thighs through his jeans. "What are _you_ doing?"

"Damned if I know," Matt said, pulling Mohinder's face to meet his for a deep kiss. "But I can't stop."

"Then don't." Mohinder sprang around, knocking him backward onto the bed. It was the first time he'd been in a dominant position with Matt, and suddenly he wanted to enjoy it. Pulling his clothes off, Mohinder sank into his body and began caressing that soft skin with his mouth and hands, making Matt let out little agonized "uh"s and grind his pelvis upward. He was so painfully erect that when Mohinder freed him from his jeans, his cock sprang from his boxers immediately. Mohinder grasped it loosely with one hand, stroking the tip across his palm and fingertips. Matt made a noise Mohinder hadn't yet heard from him. He smiled and moved downward to taste him.

Matt gave a long, strangled hum at the feel of Mohinder's lips around him. His hands came up to tangle themselves in Mohinder's hair. "Holy— shit— _Mohinder..._" The sound of his name as a shout of passion was nearly too much for Mohinder. He plunged down, taking all of Matt deep into his throat. His own erection was becoming painful.

Urgent hands were pulling on his shoulders, bringing him back up into Matt's embrace. The cop was gazing at him with pleading eyes. But there was tenderness there, too. And that, more than anything, made it unbearable for Mohinder not to have Matt inside him yet.

He leaned over and touched his trembling lips. "We should protect ourselves," he said. Matt looked confused. By way of explanation, Mohinder noted, "We should get tested soon. We've both been around." Understanding flickered across Matt's face, and he nodded soberly.

He was prepared. Mohinder kept a package of just-in-case condoms in a drawer beneath his nightstand. He unwrapped one and gently put it onto Matt, hearing the man groan even at the indirect touch. As he finished unrolling it at the base of Matt's cock, Mohinder dipped his hand down to cup the soft sac beneath. When he wiggled his fingers against the flesh as though playing a piano, Matt writhed, biting his lip.

Mohinder knew exactly what he wanted. He straddled Matt, locking his hips just north of where he needed to be, and slowly, with one hand still grasping the base of Matt's cock, guided himself backwards and onto him. They both hissed at the initial penetration. Matt groaned and grabbed Mohinder's hips with both hands when he was completely inside. Mohinder touched himself with one hand and with the other explored the length of Matt's body, from lips to fingertips and down to knees. Again and again, Matt's hips rose and pulled him down in cymbal crashes accompanied by the orchestra of grunts and gasps.

Matt took hold of Mohinder's hardness, then, rubbing with a practiced motion, his eyes devouring every reaction that flickered across his face. Through slit-open eyes Mohinder could see him, see the possessed look of triumph in his eye, and it made him want to submit even more. Even while dominating, he wanted at the same time to be dominated by this gentle, well-mannered man whose awkwardness masked the appetite of a beast. Mohinder had unleashed this monster within him. And that made him feel almost proud.

"Ah, Jesus—" Matt swore, shutting his eyes tight. "Wait." Guiding Mohinder off of him, he sat up, moved to the edge of the bed. "This isn't fair," he complained, kissing Mohinder's shoulder. "I can't touch you." With deft movements, he brought the man back to his lap, chest pressing against his back. With a strength born of passion he lowered Mohinder onto him, arms wrapped around him, mouth on his neck.

Mohinder gasped at the intimacy of it, Matt's breath and scent everywhere, their sweat mingling in pools above his shoulder blades, hands on him, holding him and teasing him and stroking him all at once. He angled his head back and his lips met Matt's in a kiss that was as full of emotion as it was lust, and somehow it was that emotion that pushed him over the edge as he came into Matt's hand, feeling Matt tighten inside of him, his legs instinctively tensing, feet hooking around Matt's shins, locking them together. High, strangled sighs burst from his throat, and as he came down he felt Matt ascending that same peak, warmth and fullness expanding within him as Matt's teeth sank into his shoulder and a guttural growl of release sounded so close to his ear. Matt's arms locked tight around him. Amazed, they clung to each other.

There weren't any words as they finally, regretfully parted— just kisses and exhausted, sympathetic smiles. The silence was finally broken when Mohinder collapsed to the bed as Matt got up to dispose of the condom. "I feel _great_," he declared.

Matt shot him a smile and, when he came back to rest next to him, brushed his lips against Mohinder's forehead. "I didn't know you could do all that," he exclaimed. "I didn't know _I_ could do all that."

"Yet another extraordinary power you've been concealing," Mohinder grinned, tracing the line of Matt's face with a soft fingertip. "What else will you discover you can do, I wonder?"

Matt looked serious all of a sudden. "I only need the power to protect you."

And for the first time he said _you_, didn't qualify the remark by hastily adding Molly to the mix. Of course she was included; they both understood that. But to be the one Matt talked about in those terms was a new experience for Mohinder. It buoyed his heart.

Unexpectedly, a yawn muscled its way into his chest. His jaw nearly broke on the size of it, and Matt chuckled. "Very noble of you, Officer Parkman," Mohinder said sleepily, "but my mind was rather closer to the gutter in asking that question, I'm afraid."

"Ah, that." Matt yawned too. "You'll find that out after our date."

"I'll look forward to it," Mohinder kissed his lips briefly. "Shouldn't you perhaps go sleep in your own room? In case Molly wakes up?"

"Oh, damn it, you're probably right," Matt grumbled. "If I show up in your clothes again she'll never let me live it down." He sat up, but as he did, he lifted one of Mohinder's hands and pressed it to his lips. "God, Mohinder," he said, shaking his head as though baffled. "This is— so— _incredible_."

Mohinder's heart swelled. "I know." They smiled at each other another minute, feeling the delirious sinking beneath their feet as they stumbled a few more inches into that abyss called love. It was a glorious tumble to take.

And as Matt waved at the door and left him alone, Mohinder thought once more about destiny. Perhaps there was no such thing. If that were the case, he'd work as hard as he could, not only to protect Molly and to save the world now but to safeguard this gorgeous new treasure he'd found, this man who had stolen his heart.

And if there was such a thing as destiny, Mohinder didn't fear it. If anything on this earth was meant to be, this surely was.

Either way, Mohinder thought as he drifted off to sleep, he had it made.


	5. Take Me Out

**Take Me Out**  
_This chapter is rated PG._

**Note: **The author is a Red Sox fan, thus the Yankees dig. Sorry if I got any details wrong about Shea Stadium, my researcher's name is Mr. Google, blame it on him.

* * *

It was three o'clock and forty-eight seconds at the precinct on Friday. Matt tried not to concentrate on the second hand. Had it always taken so damned long to get to forty-nine? He squinted at the clock on his desk from across the mass of used styrofoam coffee cups, incomplete accident reports, and other paper products so old that by now they were probably crumbling to compost beneath that pile. Matt was sure that if he ignored it all long enough, it'd just melt away.

Maybe if he squinted really hard at the clock, he could make time speed up? Or slow down, or stop? But no, that seemed out of character— for him, at least. Might as well tough it out until the weekend finally arrived.

He had promised Mohinder a date. A real date. And although he still had no idea what they would do, he couldn't help but be excited about it. It was his chance to see whether this strange connection they'd formed could stand up under the light of day. Was it just some trick played on him by bedroom shadows and the threat of a family snatched away, or was it something more honest, more real than that? Matt wasn't sure which of the two he preferred. Sometimes it seemed things would be a lot easier if these feelings just disappeared into the morning sun.

But nothing ever seemed to be easy. Among other things, Mohinder had told him the other night that there was no luck finding a babysitter. In those times when they had to leave Molly somewhere other than school, they stuck to a handful of sitters they knew and trusted. There was too much of a danger that Company operatives— or something even worse— would find an opening. So it looked like Molly would be tagging along on the long-awaited date.

Whatever it is they ended up doing.

Around him, some of the other cops were starting their weekend early. They were yakking away at the water cooler, oblivious to the racket they were making. "And then she tells me my _mother-in-law_ is in town tomorrow!" one complained. "Right behind home plate, for God's sake, and it's 'You made this commitment a month ago, I _told_ you she was coming in'— hey, Parkman, you got a bug up your ass or something?"

For Matt had stood up suddenly.

He smiled shakily. "So, uh... how much you want for those tickets?"

* * *

Mohinder was making French toast in the kitchen when Matt came to breakfast. (Molly was busy drowning hers in syrup.) "Good morning," he said with that dazzling, infectious smile. It was almost too much for Matt at this hour of the morning.

"Matt! Matt! Mohinder says today's special! What does he mean? What's so special?" Apparently Molly had begun to feel the effects of all that sugar before even touching her toast. She rocked back and forth in her seat, eyes wide and sparkling.

"Hm, I wonder," Matt teased, pulling up a chair. "You going to have any toast with that syrup?" Molly shot him a reproachful look.

"I have to admit, I'm rather curious myself." Mohinder came to the table with the final plateful of French toast and sat between the two. "What do you have in store for us today, Matthew?" He was teasing, calling Matt by his full name. Matt had warned him long ago that only his schoolteachers ever called him that. And Mohinder did not want to be put in the same class as a schoolmarm with bifocals and a hair net.

"A treat." Matt bit down on a mouthful of the sweet, sticky yellow toast and nodded approvingly at Mohinder, who beamed.

"What kind of a treat?" Molly begged.

"The kind," Matt announced, "that's in the fourth row behind home plate."

No reaction from Mohinder, but Molly's eyes lit up. "No WAY!" she squealed. "Oh, wait... it's not the _Yankees_, is it?

"I'm not an idiot," Matt said, holding up the small book of Mets tickets. Molly whooped.

"That sounds fun," Mohinder said pleasantly. Matt hadn't expected him to be quite as pleased as Molly, but he found himself quite disappointed at the lukewarm reception. This was not how he'd wanted things to go. Especially after the guys at work had raped his wallet for those tickets.

Maybe he was just too blue-collar for Mohinder after all. But honestly, what did the guy expect? A moonlit walk on the beach? Matt couldn't manage something like that with a _woman._

Peeved, he jammed his fork downward and it screeched across an empty plate. Molly had stolen his last slice of toast.

* * *

"I don't see any reason for you to be grumpy," Mohinder shouted after him as they left the subway station. "It was your idea, after all."

"I'm not being grumpy!" Matt insisted. "I just had to stand up for a half-hour straight next to someone without deodorant, listening to the crap on his iPod, and all on an empty stomach!"

"Look, you're the one who said let's be economical. I told you we should have taken a cab."

"Boo-hoo," Molly added. She was holding Mohinder's hand. He laughed with her, and Matt stomped ahead of them several steps, grumbling to himself. But as soon as the huge white mammoth that was Shea Stadium appeared, he promptly forgot all his anger.

The smell of roasted peanuts and cotten candy had greeted him just like this many years ago, when he and his dad made the long trek over the footbridge to Camden Yards. It was like a circus: The sideshow started blocks and blocks before you ever got near the center ring. College kids on cars (back then, the cool ones all had fins) carrying coolers and smoking cigarettes; vendors with caps and pennants, their singsong hawking barely even English, it was so loud and distorted; a clown, juggling bottles for tips; and so many children and adults of so many shapes and sizes that Matt was sure the entire world must be coming to the game. Back then, baseball tickets were affordable, even for a blue-collar Baltimore pipefitter and part-time department store clerk on weekends. And the players were still heroes rather than overpaid jerks. A lot had changed since those days, but the smell was the same, and that in itself was enough to make Matt decide, right then and there, that the tickets were worth the price.

And watching Molly run from place to place, her eyes flashing all the bright reflected colors of balloons and banners, filled Matt with a deep satisfaction. He looked back at Mohinder, who caught up to stand beside him as they watched their little girl. Their fingertips touched briefly in a shared parental moment of joy.

Newly decked out in a brand-new cap with a METS #1 pennant in one hand and a spindle of cotton candy in the other, Molly led the pair through the turnstile proudly. "Section 17," she declared to the usher, who smiled. _What a cutie,_ Matt heard him think, and he nodded in agreement, grinning ear to ear.

This had to be what it was like to be a father. This is what Sanchez in the department was feeling when he temporarily let down his tough-guy persona and begged Matt to take a look at his walletful of pictures. ("She was in the school play!" he'd enthused before reddening and lowering his voice.) And this is what Matt was anticipating all those nights he lay awake, pondering the two heartbeats next to him, wondering what it would finally be like. All of a sudden, he missed Janice.

He made a habit of calling, of course, and had gone out to see her at least once a month since the split. It was his kid, too, and he was determined to do right by him or her. That meant keeping things civil with Janice, no matter how many nasty things he heard her think to herself or how unwarranted he felt they were. Who wasn't bitter who had seen a marriage die? Matt was one of the lucky ones. He'd been thrown headlong into a new family, and that had staved off some of the loneliness.

He'd have to tell her at some point about Mohinder and him. What a conversation _that_ would be.

* * *

"You're gonna eat _all_ of that _now_?" Molly wrinkled her nose.

"No." Matt stuck out his tongue at her. "I'm gonna drink some beer, and _then_ I'm going to eat it all." He handed a twenty to the vendor, who gave him not very much in return. Laden with nachos, a soft pretzel, and a trio of hot dogs with all the trimmings, he walked across the mezzanine to where Mohinder was waiting, his own arms full with two beers and a lemonade.

"What is that green stuff?" Molly eyed the hot dog suspiciously as they made their way down through the bleachers.

"It's relish. And it's good. Eat it." Matt shoved the tray under her nose as she grunted and tried to avoid it.

"It does look rather foul, doesn't it," Mohinder commented.

"Oh, right, thanks," Matt pouted. "You're the one who's always adding weird things to perfectly normal food."

"It's called seasoning." Molly giggled at that reply.

"Oh. All right!" Matt threw up his free hand. "I see how it is. Go ahead, you two. You little traitor," he mock-sneered to Molly, who laughed uproariously and dove behind Mohinder for protection as they filed into their seats. "Run away while you can."

_That was ingenious,_ he heard Mohinder think all of a sudden. _How did you manage that?_

"Huh? Manage what?" Matt started to say. But when they sat down, Molly on one side of Mohinder and Matt on the other, the two men's fingers intertwined between the seats as Molly oohed and aahed obliviously. And he knew the answer.

* * *

"Come O-N-N-N!" Molly screamed at the top of her lungs. "Strike him OUT!" The count was 3 and 1.

"You know," said Matt, leaning over, "if you want the batter to strike out, you have to distract him. Like this." As the pitcher went into his windup, Matt took a deep breath and bellowed, "Batterbatterbatterbatterbatterbatter**SWING**batter!"

Mohinder looked distinctly disturbed at this outburst. But swing the batter did, a long, wide arc, and the ump called the second strike. "That was cool!" Molly said.

"OK, one more time," Matt said. This time he and Molly stood up and sang out in unison.

"Batterbatterbatterbatterbatter**SWING**batter!"

It was a base hit. "Oh well," said Matt. "Can't win 'em all."

Between them, Mohinder was munching sedately on a pretzel, trying for all the world to look like he wasn't even there. Molly would have none of it. "You do it too!" she insisted, and tried to pull him to his feet.

"Oh, no," he protested. "That's all right. You two go on."

"No _way._ Get _UP!_"

Matt snickered as Mohinder reluctantly got to his feet. "What am I supposed to say again?" he asked.

"Batterbatter, batter batter SWINGbatter!" she demonstrated, tripping over the words.

"That's ridiculous—"

"Ready?" Molly pulled hard on his arm. "GO!"

And all three, including a red-faced Mohinder, chanted the magic words as hard as they could

The batter struck out.

"Yahoo!" squealed Molly, bouncing up and down.

"See?" Matt gave Mohinder a smug smile. "That wasn't so bad."

"Oh, yes, it was." Mohinder glowered. But his eyes were dancing.

* * *

"He's going to throw a splitter," Matt whispered. "You think I should warn him?"

"Stop reading the catcher's mind," Mohinder lectured under his breath. "You're setting a terrible example for Molly."

"It's a splitter!" Matt stage-whispered, making Molly giggle.

Mohinder playfully whacked him on the side of the leg, grinning. But his hand lingered, pressing against Matt's thigh for just a few seconds.

Their eyes locked, and a moment of heat flew between them. Matt swallowed hard. He feared he needed a cold shower, and fast.

Molly inadvertently obliged as her empty lemonade cup overturned, dumping ice in both men's laps.

* * *

As the seventh-inning stretch began, Molly squirmed over between the two men and grabbed their hands. "It's time to sing!" she announced. As the organ puffed and tooted in the background, she raised her voice gaily:

"Take me out to the ballgame..."

Matt joined in. "Take me out with the crowd..."

Grinning at each other, they went on. "Buy me some peanuts and" (Molly shouted) "Crack! Er! Jacks!"

Turning to Mohinder, they put on twin plaintive pouts, emoting like a pair of D-list actors. "I don't care if we _never_ get back!"

The act was too much, and Mohinder burst out in an uncontrollable fit of laughter. He doubled over, giggling hysterically, nearly crying. The song was over long before he regained his composure. As he straightened up, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes, Matt heard a thought go flying through his mind. He wasn't sure who it was for or about, but there was no mistaking the strength of it.

_Dear God! I love you so much!_

* * *

They had to carry Molly half the way home, she was so sleepy. Matt held on to her souvenir program, the half-empty plastic popcorn bowl with the Mets logo, and the Polaroid of her next to a cardboard cutout of Pedro Martinez, among other mementos; Mohinder toted her up the steps to the front door. As he lay her down onto her bed, she murmured, "Thank you best day _ever_" and was fast asleep.

Matt was waiting on the couch. "She really enjoyed herself," Mohinder said as he sat down.

"I meant to tell you I was sorry," said Matt. "I know a family trip to a baseball game wasn't exactly the most romantic idea for a date. I wanted to take you out, but not to the ball game, I guess." He groaned at his own pun.

"Actually, it was perfect," said Mohinder, smiling. "I didn't expect it to be quite so much fun. I was rather surprised."

"That's good." The conversation died away and they sat side by side, gazing straight ahead. The safety net called Molly had been retired, and all of a sudden they were two adults at the end of a date that had not gone entirely as planned.

"So," said Mohinder hesitantly, "what now?"

"Now?" Matt looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Well—" He looked at Mohinder's profile, trying to decide what was supposed to come next. What did he _want_ to happen now?

The answer was almost surprisingly obvious. Biting his lip hard as though concentrating, he shifted his body on the couch to lean in toward him. And with a great effort, he lifted his arm and stretched it across Mohinder's shoulders.

"Can I," he choked, "can I kiss you?"

For once in his life, Mohinder was lost for words.

They kissed sweetly, not passionately— a kiss that was more about emotion and sharing than desire or possession. But their lips lingered, and Matt stroked the eager face beneath his, feeling completely at peace and completely belonging to this undimming moment in time.

He surrounded the man's shoulders with his arms, kissed his hair and temples. "I don't really know what I am now," he confessed as Mohinder leaned back into his embrace. "I mean, I was married. And I really thought that I was—"

Mohinder didn't have any trouble saying the word that seemed to flummox Matt. "You shouldn't worry too much about whether you're gay," he said. "It doesn't really matter, in the scheme of things."

"Doesn't it?" Matt mused. "I mean, shouldn't I know who I am?"

"You're Detective Matt Parkman," Mohinder replied calmly. "You're a police officer, you're a surrogate father and a father-to-be. You're a decent human being, and you're a person who happens to be in love with a—"

He shrank away. Modesty and mortification played across his face, trembling eyelashes and flushed skin suddenly replacing the placid expression of a few moments ago. He looked as though he might melt away. His hand was clapped loosely over his mouth. "I'm sorry," he said. "I assumed too much—"

And watching him, watching those features wracked by guilt and fear, Matt felt a rush of affection and gratitude for this man. Matt may have been the policeman, the one who was supposed to be brave. But this was the man who always took the risk, who took the first and bravest step to bring Matt a kind of happiness he had never dreamed of having. "No," he said, taking Mohinder's hand. "You didn't."

Mohinder gasped and held in the breath, eyes like bright black buttons. His lips quavered.

_You love me?_

The sureness of the truth was like a halo on Matt's heart. He couldn't help but smile. "Yeah," he said in a low, steady voice. "Yeah, I do."

Mohinder buried his head in his palms, shoulders shaking. Matt held him tight and just listened to the sounds of relief and catharsis running through his mind.

_...have been in love with you for so long... _

_...this week was like a dream..._

_...so afraid it would all end tonight..._

_...please let it be true..._

"It is true," Matt reassured him fervently. "I'm here. You don't have to worry any more. I'm not leaving. I'm going to protect you and Molly no matter what. As long as you'll let me." He tilted Mohinder's face up, wiped the tears from his eyes. It didn't matter then what he was doing, whether it was odd to be treating someone so tenderly. All that mattered was that he connect with this soul who had been longing for him and who he'd finally been able to see. "I love you."

"I... love you too, Matt." Mohinder whispered brokenly. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

"Thank _you_," Matt smiled, tears springing to his own eyes. "I would never have known if you hadn't had the courage to tell me. To think I would have missed all of this!" He laughed through the tears. "I will never," he said forcefully, "miss anything again. I will be right here. And when all of this is over with, and we're free, I will take you out anyplace you want. Just the two of us."

Mohinder was silent. Matt feared he'd said too much.

But then a smile that was not entirely pure and innocent came to Mohinder's face. "I'll hold you to that, Officer Parkman," he said slyly. "But before you take me out, I can think of a place you can take me first."

Matt's grin widened. And wordlessly, they stood up, walked hand in hand into the bedroom, and shut the door behind them.


	6. Epilogue

**Epilogue**  
_This epilogue is rated G._

"Hello?"

"Janice, it's me."

"Oh, Matt, hi. How've you been?"

"Good, good. How are you feeling? How's the baby?"

"We're doing well. Had another ultrasound yesterday. He's growing. Two pounds now."

"Wow."

"So, what's new with you?"

"Um, not much. I made detective."

"Oh, Matt! Congratulations. You really deserve it."

"Thanks. That means a lot."

"..."

"Look, Janice? There's something I think you ought to know."

"...Oh?"

"Yeah. I'm, uh, seeing someone."

"...Oh. Is it... serious?"

"...yeah. I think it is."

"Well. That didn't take long."

"I didn't really mean for it to happen. It just did. It was kind of.. unexpected."

"I... see."

"Look. This doesn't change anything, OK? I'm still going to be there for our baby. You've got to know that, at least."

"..."

"C'mon, Jan. Don't be this way."

"I know. I'm just feeling sorry for myself. It doesn't seem fair, that's all."

"I know. It isn't, really. But that's how it is."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

"Well, I hope this new person in your life is good to you."

"He is."

"...What?"

"..."

"Oh. Oh, my God. Matt, you're not— Oh, God! I knew I couldn't figure you out, but..."

"Jan. Janice. Listen. Listen to me."

"I _turned_ you! Oh, God, I can't believe it! I turned you! How could this happen!?"

"Janice! You're wrong! It's not like that..."

"...It isn't?"

"...Well, yeah, it kind of is, but..."

"Oh, GOD! My mother was right! I should have stayed away from men who play with guns all day..."

"Janice!"

"I should go to a convent and lock mself away. For the sake of the human race! I'm a turner!"

"I'm telling you, it's..."

"Or have you always been this way? You bastard! Were you using me this whole time? How could you? Did you marry me so you'd look more respectable? Were you going to seedy bars all those nights I thought you were on patrol?"

"JANICE!"

"...What?"

"I married you because I loved you."

"Don't lie to me!"

"I'm not lying! I fell in love with you, I married you, we're having a baby together! That will never change! No matter what, I will always care for you. And I love this baby so much already. All two pounds of it."

"...heh."

"Please. Don't ever doubt that what we had was real. Our kid's living proof of it."

"...It's just that I sometimes think, what if this _thing_ hadn't happened to you? If you couldn't... do what you do, maybe we could have made it."

"Would we have, though? Really? We were in trouble a long time before I found out what... what I could do."

"And what I did."

"I wasn't going to say that."

"You didn't have to. Oh, Matt, how could I have gotten things so wrong?"

"You know, Jan, this... new person in my life... he says to me that everything happens for a reason."

"Huh?"

"He's a scientist. A geneticist. And he studies people like me. Who have... abilities. If it hadn't been for that, we might never have met."

"Matt, this isn't helping."

"Wait. Just listen. He says he doesn't know if it's fate or God or coincidence, but he has trouble believing that it's all just random. And I think I agree with him. I think... that there's a reason we had to go through this. Maybe we just don't know what it is right now."

"..."

"...Try and have faith in that, Jan. Someday a time will come that you'll understand why you had to feel this way. You can be angry at me, you can hate me, but don't give up on yourself. You're a good woman and a good person. And you're going to be a _great_ mother."

"...You sound different, Matt."

"How do you mean?"

"I don't know. You sound _wiser_. This friend... or boyfriend... of yours must be smart."

"Well, he is a scientist."

"Hm. Is he handsome?"

"Actually? Yeah. He's Indian. Tall and dark and all of that."

"Now I'm even more jealous."

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to rub it in."

"I know. But you know something, Matt? You also sound happy."

"...I think I am."

"...Then I'm happy for you."

"Thanks, Janice."

"You're welcome."

"So, um, Jan? There's one more thing..."

"?"

"We kind of ... have a kind of... daughter."

"..."

"Janice? _Hello?_"

**The End**


End file.
